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In April, words bloom with fervour,
poet interweaves verses, his mind is creative,
she bares her soul in each rhyme with ardor,
his muse is the wind, his voice, the dawn.
his essence he gives in each peerless verse,
his pen is his sword, his ink melody,
a being of pure feeling, of natural gift.
Each word, a world to discover,
he delivers his passion with sincere dedication,
his art is the universe that makes us exist,
it takes us to fly, free, without frontiers.
With tenderness and love she writes her truth,
guides us to dream worlds without end,
each letter is an adventure in solitude,
that intoxicates us and leaves us in total peace.
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